


Messi and Ronaldo at Award Shows Over the Years

by dizzydancing



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FIFA Ballon d'Or, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzydancing/pseuds/dizzydancing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Careful." Cristiano clears his throat. "I think my son likes you more than he likes me."</p><p>"So?" Leo wants to seem indifferent, but his voice betrays him. "That means he has good taste."</p><p>Cristiano eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he lets out a small laugh, making the skin around his eyes crinkle. Leo's heart feels a little funny, but he smiles back. He allows this moment - this moment completely secluded from judgmental glances and flashing cameras - to settle in the recesses of his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messi and Ronaldo at Award Shows Over the Years

**01.**

**2007 FIFA World Player of the Year**

**Date: December 17, 2007**

**Zurich Opera House**

 

Everything is a disaster, and the award show hasn't even started yet.

 

Leo’s hair is too long, but he doesn't have the time to cut it. The suit feels too big and awkward for his tiny body, but his tailor has mysteriously disappeared. (He suspects it’s Geri’s fault because most things are Geri’s fault). Most embarrassingly, he's using some fruity perfume for women because he can't find his favorite cologne.

 

In a moment of desperation, he calls Geri for help. He chalks up his choice to stress and insanity because there's no other way he can justify his decision to seek out  _Gerard Pique_ as a voice of reason.

 

Geri laughs at him for three minutes straight – Leo checked the clock – before finally catching his breath.

 

"Okay, let me try to understand what's going on. You're going to the most prestigious event for footballers ever dressed as an oversized, female penguin?”

 

“The suit isn’t actually that big,” Leo admits. “But yes, I haven’t cut my hair or found my cologne yet.”

 

“Oh my God.”

 

"Don't you have something better to do than to insult me?" Leo sighs, already considering hanging up on his friend.

 

"You were the one who called me to complain about your troubles," Geri protests. Leo can imagine him raising his hands up in the air in the same  _don't look at me, I didn’t do anything_ gesture he would use on all the coaches. For some reason, the thought brings a smile to face and a twinge of nostalgia.

 

“What am I supposed to do?”

 

“Relax,” Geri replies, reverting back to the soothing and protective voice that Leo recognizes from the La Masia days. “Who cares how you’re dressed? Who cares about anything? Who cares who Kaka and Cristiano are? You’re _Lionel Messi_.”

 

“You’re not supposed to say that. Ronaldo’s your teammate.”

 

“So? You’re my best friend. For example, if Cristiano makes fun of your hair, tell him that I’ll beat him up because I’m the only person allowed to make fun of you. Also, just in case, I have pictures of his terrible hair choices for blackmail.”

 

“You’ve made terrible hair choices too.” Leo cuts him off and hangs up the phone, already feeling better.

 

* * *

 

 

The nerves come back after he arrives at the ceremony for the interviews and briefings.

 

Dozens of old men in suits shake his hand, complimenting him on his success. The FIFA executives ruffle his hair and pat his back, partially to make themselves look good and partially so that they don’t have to interact with each other. Leo just nods at them, feeling uncomfortable under their scrutinizing gazes. He pulls back from hugs as quickly as possible. His awkward nods and hugs probably don’t do anything to fix the media’s perception of him as cold and detached, but Leo doesn’t care for social niceties. He doesn’t suck up to people or yearn their support. He cares about football, and he cares about his friends. Nothing else reaches his radar.

 

After the interviews and greetings finally finish, he begins to shuffle around. The people backstage are too busy running around and checking that everything is ready for the show to care about a little guy wandering around.

 

He’s just about to start playing FIFA on his phone due to his sheer boredom when someone taps him on the shoulder.

 

Leo turns around and comes face-to-face with Cristiano Ronaldo. It’s strange and surreal to actually see Ronaldo in the flesh. Normally, Ronaldo just seems like someone who only exists in Geri’s stories about Manchester United and the media’s articles. He only knows about Ronaldo from little tidbits of gossip about his arrogance. Seeing Ronaldo in front of him, he feels like he is supposed to decipher and finish a puzzle.

 

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t pay attention to Ronaldo’s words until the latter snaps his fingers in front of his face.

 

“Hello? You understand?” Ronaldo asks, voice wavering. Leo only manages to catch on to a few of the words using his limited English. The rest of what Ronaldo says is complete gibberish. He is waving his hands around and speaking with a wide smile and bright eyes. It’s throwing Leo off balance, and Leo typically never feels out of control.

 

“Little,” Leo finally finds his voice again and replies. “My English is bad.”

 

“Oh,” Ronaldo replies, sounding a little guilty. He frowns, and his lower lip juts out. Leo feels the sudden itch to smooth out the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

 

“Your English good, yes? You talk fast,” Leo assures him. He isn’t sure if he used the right English word for fast, so he tries to wave his hands around and mimic Ronaldo. Ronaldo grins, and Leo suddenly feels proud for some reason.

 

“Bathroom,” Ronaldo says, and he hilariously attempts to indicate what a bathroom is with his hands. “Where is it? You work here, yes?”

 

“Do not work here,” Leo responds, shrugging his shoulders.

 

“Oh,” The Portuguese player utters again. He leans back a little, taking Leo in like he’s trying to figure something out. The brightness of his eyes and carefreeness of his smile are gone, replaced by a completely blank expression. Leo recognizes how Ronaldo is wearing a mask now, and the thought that Ronaldo wants to cover himself up from Leo troubles him more than he would like to admit.

 

“I’m Leo,” he declares, finally speaking up.

 

“Messi?”

 

“You are Ronaldo. You play for Manchester – “

 

“The only Manchester team that matters.” Ronaldo cuts Leo off before he can say United.

 

Leo grins. Ronaldo smiles back at him, shoulders finally relaxing. Leo hates how his mind notices and registers Ronaldo’s tongue poking out between his teeth a little.

 

“Sorry,” Ronaldo suddenly says. He sounds hesitant, a trait that doesn’t seem to fit Ronaldo. “I didn’t know you are Messi. Your hair is longer than it looks on TV.”

 

“Geri – Gerard Pique – says your hair is bad,” Leo asserts, feeling a little defensive because of the way Ronaldo is teasing him about his hair.

 

“Pique,” Ronaldo repeats. He rolls his eyes.

 

Leo laughs because he has the same reaction to that giant man troll.

 

“Good job,” Leo says because he doesn’t know how to say congratulations in Spanish. “Top three, yes?”

 

“We know that Kaka will win,” Ronaldo informs him, not bothering to congratulate Leo.

 

“But top three good,” Leo insists.

 

“I want to win. I want to be number one.”

 

Ronaldo’s words are clear and confident. He doesn’t bother sugarcoating anything and instead states his intentions bluntly. There isn’t even a trace of self-doubt or uncertainty. Moreover, there isn’t a trace of false modesty that Leo can detect from most footballers. Leo blinks at Ronaldo, surprised by the upfront attitude.

 

“You can,” Leo simply says. He has always been the kind of person who wants to defy the odds. Defy the odds of growing up normally. Defy the odds of not making it to Barca’s first team. Defy the odds of not making it to Barca’s starting line-up. Defy the odds of not being anything more than a boy who loved football but could not live it.

 

Ronaldo must be able to understand Leo’s silence. He must able to hear past Leo’s strangled English and connect to some part of Leo’s story. He doesn’t just smile; he glows. Leo doesn’t know how to explain it, but Ronaldo’s smile completely transforms his face. He wants that expression to stay there. Something about Ronaldo’s openness and unrestrained happiness draws him in. Leo knows what it’s like to have people who don’t believe in his abilities. The doubters drive him, but it’s still nice to receive praise once in a while.

 

They don’t bother shaking hands because that feels too formal and forced. Instead, Leo just promises to himself to remember the moment and lock it up in the back of his mind. He doesn’t promise to himself to remember the image of Ronaldo’s entire face crinkling when he smiled. That image lingers anyways.

 

Later, after Kaka picks up the first place award, Ronaldo accidentally takes Leo’s second place trophy. They switch it quickly before moving aside and allowing Kaka to stand in the spotlight.

 

“Keep the second place trophy,” Ronaldo whispers to Leo. “I am getting the first place trophy next year.”

 

“My hair will be better next year.”

 

“Good. No more bad perfume either, please.”

 

It’s probably not appropriate to shove Ronaldo on stage. Leo feels tempted to do so anyway.

 

* * *

 

Almost immediately after the gala, the press starts stirring up the Ronaldo vs. Messi comparisons and attempting to build up the story of a rivalry. Despite the pressure mounting on him, Leo plasters a smile on his face.

 

“I don’t have any problems with Ronaldo. It was nice to meet him at the award gala. I hope we meet again at the next awards ceremony. I look forward to it,” he informs the press, meaning every single word.

 

The next day _Messi Looking Forward to Competing with CR7_ is the first headline he sees. It’s right under a picture of Kaka, Ronaldo, and himself on the stage. He sends a picture of the newspaper cover to Geri via text.

 

 _Sent 9:30 am  
_ _From geri:_

_Oh shit_

_Sent 9:31 am  
_ _From geri:_

_Wow, you really did look stupid at the gala_

_Sent 11:00 am  
_ _From geri:_

_??? leo are you ignoring me_

_Sent 11:30 am  
_ _From leo:_

_Yes I’m ignoring you_

_Sent 11:31 am  
_ _From geri:_

_jajaja_

_Sent 11:32 am  
_ _From leo:_

_Pretend I didn’t send that message, I’m still ignoring you_

_Sent 11:33 am  
_ _From geri:_

_:(_

_Sent 4:00 pm  
_ _From geri:_

_If you stop ignoring me, I’ll tell you what Cristiano said about you ;)_

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments (:


End file.
